Taco Night

Taco Night at the Mineola Steakhouse is rocking.

Hundreds -- sometimes more than a thousand -- bikers ride in to Mineola each Thursday night as weather permits and party until the bar closes. Then they get back on their bikes, buzz intact, and ride back to the Bluffs.

The bar offers dollar tacos. The town welcomes the party all summer with few complaints.

For more information: http://www.tacoride.com/

Get on your bikes and ride!

Go time

Friday morning Diana and I set out with friends to our annual roundup.

I was dogging it. I'd been on eight hunts in nine days and was feeling fatigued. We had a handful of chores and a two-hour drive to get to our favorite hunting grounds -- a place that had stocked our freezers for the past six or seven years -- and we were running 45 minutes late.

I drove a little too fast and was impatient as we passed through one construction zone after another.

We arrived in the rain.

For most, rain is not something you look forward to on a camping trip. For us it was perfect.

We were meeting Rootball and Sasquatch at the site. All we could think of was them sitting there waiting for us. Then the phone rang.

It was Rootball -- he too was running late. A short time later the phone rang again -- it was Sasquatch -- running five minutes behind us.

We all eventually arrived eager to hunt, hastily set up camp and then left it behind without a thought. We were heading straight to a group of ancient cottonwoods in the middle of a pristine piece of land -- privately owned so I can't say exactly where -- hard on the the Missouri River.

In previous years we had topped out bags and buckets with morels and has always been our first stop.

Unfortunately, we walked by perfect tree after perfect tree with no morels in site.

I wasn't going to let the fact that there were very few morels ruin my trip. I tried to concentrate on likely spots and hump it through the knee-high nettles with purpose.

It was nearly an hour before we started finding a few mushrooms here and there, but no patches and not the way we wanted to start the trip. After a three-hour hike we headed back to camp to regroup, eat store-bought cookies and Lunchables and stare at our tiny clutches of fresh morels.

We decided that it was too wet to climb down cliffs to our best spot so we set off on another long hike -- this time into the snake grass.

As we entered the strips of cottonwoods and piss elms running along Muddy Mo we immediately started to find a few mushrooms.

When traveling in groups, most of us give a hoot when we find a 'shroom. A sweet "woohoo" lets those around know to slow up so we don't leave someone picking behind as we press forward. It also gives you a lift -- knowing that morels are in the area.

We all found a couple pounds and headed back to camp for a morel and steak stew that Sasquatch made at home and packed in.

I was feeling itchy so I lifted my top shirt to reveal more than 40 ticks staging in the small of my back to crawl higher for a meal. For some reason I'm a tick magnet. Everyone else had a tick here and there, but I had them everywhere.

Rootball took note and sprayed my clothes with a lethal can of Permanone. Ticks stayed away for the rest of the trip. This stuff is so potent that I fear I'll grow a third nipple after being exposed to it. A trade I was willing to make to keep ticks off me.

After a great dinner Big D and I went for a sunset hunt. We only walked a half mile, found four morels and headed back to the campfire.

Saturday morning we woke early, ate bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches, guzzled coffee and climbed down the cliffs to our best chance of saving our season.

I found three fresh yellows right away. I hooted. Everyone was stoked. The woods were perfect. As we moved through the thickets, we walked through strands of spider web. I could see them glistening in the sun and could have knocked them down, but my eyes were glued on the tops of trees and the ground around the dead.

And then we walked for miles in silence. Our treasure had not been raided -- there were no signs that morels had been there.

I have to say, I felt my spirit break. I started thinking that fishing sounded fun.

We all came together at the edge of the hills and decided to turn deeper. Rootball lead the way and immediately found a patch of more than 60 morels. They were spread out around the roots of a giant cottonwood felled in a storm the previous year. Many were big yellows. Most were fresh.

Then Big D called me over to photograph a group she found forty yards from the epicenter. Seven sweet, fresh beauties stood there -- A rare sight for the past three seasons.

We went from bust to boom. I picked seven pounds, Sasquatch had a pound more. Big D had picked four pounds and Rootball, who had led us to the promise land, picked about three pounds. Sasquatch found a patch while hanging back, doubling his take at one tree. Big D and I found four or five medium-size patches on the way back to the car. We had walked for seven hours and it was time for dinner.

I made venison back straps and beans for dinner. We sipped some brandy and hit the sack early.

This morning we were up late and moving slow. We hunted for a few hours in the hills, but only found a few more pounds.

Sasquatch turned an ankle and left for home first. Rootball took us deep into the hills to a place he had never hunted, but felt it might be good. He found a patch a few yards from the trucks. The hills wore us out quick and we hit the road back to Mineola just after 3 p.m with a couple dozen more yellows. Trip over.

Tomorrow I get organized, process morels and maybe go on an afternoon hunt. Depends of the state of my blisters and quality of TV shows happening near my couch. I hear Ellen has a special guest...

Peckerheads and sore feet

The grand totals from the past two days: 20 morels, 21 ticks, two sore feet.

We have been north. We have been south. We have been east and tomorrow one of us will go west. We have been on the hunt nonstop for the past two days and we have little or nothing to show for it.

Time to go deep.

I ran into Jeanmarie and Deano in the woods and they had nice buckets of fresh morels. They explained that they had hiked for more than an hour to get access to a place that had been untouched this past weekend. I like their spunk.

One thing we have found common this year; half free morels, also commonly called peckerheads. They are edible, but look similar to verpas and stinkroots and need to be positively identified before cooking and eating. They are very delicate and take great care to make it back to the house in one piece.

Good News and Bad News

Sunday we hunted seven hours, walking no less than eight miles. I picked more than three pounds of pristine morels.

Sounds great, but for that particular place it is much less than average.

No, I'm not going to tell you where we were. All I'm allowed to say is that we were on the banks of the Missouri River not too far from Mineola.

Today we went to secret area #7A, a place we know like our own backyards.

I picked two morels. Two.

We walked through the rain and the sticky mud. We endured the cold and the thick, brushy mix of poison ivy, wild locust and spiny vines. We walked deep and kept our focus for the first five or six miles. In the end, the three of us may have picked a little more than a pound. All three of us are morel-crazed, forest-seasoned foraging freaks. If there were morels in those woods we would have brought them out.

I picked two.

Two.

On the positive end of the trip. We saw a nice variety of wildlife. We saw many bunnies, a hen and chick woodcock (we call them timber doodles), deer and we were circled by buzzards after giving in to the inevitable and taking a seat on a comfy log. That said, I shot my photos with my cell phone. I can keep a cell phone dry in a pocket, but if I ruin a EOS1D Mark III in the rain I'll probably lose my job.

An interesting note: 15 years ago newspapers were paying $12,000 for Kodak DCS series digital cameras that shot 2 mp photos. Now my cheap cell phone does 2 mp photos.

A Great First day

Today I hit the road at 7:30 am., but not to hunt.

First, Morgan and I went to Greg Wagner's studio to be on his outdoor show. I was slobbering all the way there -- I knew that Ken Stoysich was bringing in smoked turchicken and some of their famous brats.

The show went great. Greg is a terrific host and other than feeling a little stuffed after consuming a cherry bomb brat, a reuben brat and about a pound of turkey, chicken and stuffing, I thought it went well.

I might have a man crush of Ken. If you want good food, start with Stoysich.

Then Morgan and I took his youngest to a WMA in Bellevue and started our first hunt of vacation. I took three pounds of sweet medium- and large-size yellows in about four hours of walking. We were competing with several groups. Morgan and Connor combined for another three pounds.

It was a real treat to spend time with Connor -- not a better kid out there. He was patient and fully engaged in the woods.

On the down side: I picked about ten ticks off me -- one latched -- and we were once again driven to fits of insanity by attacking mosquitoes.

Tomorrow we head to a special place -- can't say exactly where -- and hope to pick several pounds. Big D and I made new buckets for the trip.

If you're not familiar with Rootball's theory on buckets -- take a bucket (any size from a gallon ice cream bucket to a five-gallon pickle bucket) and drill half-inch holes in it. It's a safe place for your 'shrooms -- sparing them from the beating they would take in a mesh bag during a long walk, gives you plenty of ventilation and doubles as a seat when you get tired of carrying your harvest. I only use a mesh bag when I think I'll be finding just a few. I say if you're going to pick them, don't waste them. Not even one.

Ready, set, hunt morels

I've had several calls today confirming what we already know -- it's time to hunt.

Rootball Willy reports buckets of river morels being pulled from the Platte River Valley between Lincoln and Omaha. The report was second-hand, but Willy is an ex-repo man and can sniff out a false claim like a boar on a truffle.

Jeanmarie and Dean have been pulling dozens of nice medium-size morels from the West Douglas County parks.

Vicki Modlin, of Woods Sporting Goods and Live Bait in Council Bluffs, is reporting many pounds being taken from the Iowa side of the Missouri River Valley. They bring their buckets to her shop to weigh them -- and brag. Did I say the Wood's sells beer and has a drive-thru bait window.

Kellicans went to a Sarpy County WMA and picked three pounds of pristine morels. Kelly, I'm only going to say this once -- stay out of my honey hole.

We have heard of morel harvesting throughout the entire area -- not just a few hear and there, but big finds. Some are reporting sand fleas. That's to be expected after a rain. Everyone is reporting bad mosquitoes and ticks. Diana and I pulled more than 30 ticks -- many of those tiny bastards -- off us after a four-hour walk.

The past two years have been a test. We have been hopeful previously and had our hopes dashed. Still, I am willing to put my hopeful-self at risk yet again, with nothing between me and hunting for the next 10 days, and venture to believe this may be the best two weeks of morel hunting we've had in a long time. Starting now.

The Race to Vacation

I don't have a day off until Saturday and it's raining. I'm dying to get back to the woods.

I would go for lunch, but getting wet on a work day isn't a good idea. You never know what's on the schedule.

Yesterday I spent four hours at a track meet. I forgot how much fun they are to attend.